Wandering Angel
by Pensez-a-Erik
Summary: Twenty years since Christine's death, Erik eagerly anticipates seeing her again during his final moments. One-shot, please R&R!


_Twenty long years._

He had waited twenty years to see his Christine again. Oh, how he longed to see her brown and kind eyes, how much he wished to hear her sing. How much pain was he to endure? Even when she was there, right within his reach, she still found away to slip away out of his grip. Instead, she had left him with a son.

Raising Gustave had been no easy task. There had been long nights of tears, where Erik couldn't tell who cried more. They were both alone in the world, with just each other. Raoul had left soon after the funeral, sticking to his word and leaving Erik to care for the traumatized ten year old.

For a while her name had become taboo, a cold word that hung over all their heads, threatening to drop at any moment. Those few months had been the most painful, half a year after her passing. It had taken a while to overcome that bump. The yearning and grief had nearly killed Erik, who had to tell himself everynight to stay alive for Gustave, or else Raoul would win once and for all.

"Your quarrel with him is childish." Gustave would tell him as the young boy grew older. _Sure_ , Erik would think to himself. _If only you understood._

But finally, he lay in his bed, mask off, blanket resting just below his neck. His breathing was labored as Gustave pressed a wet rag to his forehead, eyes clouding with sadness. "The nurse says it won't be much longer now." Erik didn't respond, just closed his eyes. He already knew it, deep down. The sleepless nights, the dreams he had when he eventually managed to get a few hours of sleep. She hadn't visited him until a few weeks ago, and then it had felt like she had ripped open a slowly healing wound, leaving it for the world to see.

The Phantom wasn't afraid, he hadn't been since her death, so long ago. He could still remember kneeling over her limp figure, singing to her as he held her. Erik could recall every word she had said to him, he liked to think he had down as she said. He loved, he lived. He'd given all he could give.

But besides sadness, what had he deserved? Erik had attended the funeral of Mme Giry only five years after Christine's, and had waved goodbye as Meg sailed away back to Paris. He had given Gustave as much as he could, and watched as his son grew into a fine young man. _Maybe that's what I received,_ he thought, _pride._

His thoughts were interrupted as a nurse entered, carrying a cup of soup in her grip. After sharing a quick word with Gustave, she set it down on the bedside table. "Good luck, sir." She whispered, picking up an old bowl she had left during her previous visit. Erik waited for the nurse to leave before opening his eyes. "I've anticipated this for so long, Gustave." He whispered. Gustave leaned back down, setting the rag beside the bowl of soup. "Hush, father. Are you hungry? The nurse brought in beef stew." He reached over to pick up the bowl, but Erik shook his head.

"No, I cannot eat." He responded, his eyes lighting up. "It's time for me to depart, Gustave." He let out a sigh. "I can hear her, my son."

"Mother?" Gustave's voice cracked. Erik nodded in response, exhaling. "I can hear her sing."

Erik felt the world grow dim, and it was true, he could hear her singing as if she were truly there beside him. He held his breath, listening and letting himself be swept away by her voice.

"Angel, I hear you, speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me!" It was faint, but barely audible. He closed his eyes in bliss.

"Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me-" He couldn't hear the rest of the song, but he began to sing anyway, the words flooding back to him as he took a deep breath.

His voice shaking from years without use. "Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in shadows I hide," his voice trailed off, he could definitely hear her sweet, sweet voice. He could see again, and he looked up at the entrance. Was her figure there, or was his eyes deceiving him?

Erik stood up, brushing past Gustave's kneeling figure and approached the door. Her soft voice filled his ears, and he could see her standing before him, looking young and as beautiful as she was when he had first seen her at the the opera-house.

"It's been too long, mon ange." She whispered, reaching out a delicate hand. He took her hand, and Christine looked up into his eyes.

"Too long." Erik echoed.


End file.
